


The Good or Bad Thing

by petreparkour



Series: dawn of a doom of a dream [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Battle of New York (Marvel), Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), I WROTE THIS BEFORE ENDGAME SO THEREFORE THE RUSSOS COPIED ME, Implied Relationships, M/M, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SHIELD, Secrets, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Who even knows, and then it happened, i messed with the timeline because i wanted to, i started writing this before endgame, tony meets tony and steve meets steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petreparkour/pseuds/petreparkour
Summary: “It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past selfandThor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’remy comms.”Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.THERE'S A SEQUEL NOW





	The Good or Bad Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeetheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeetheSea/gifts).



> wohoo!! happy birthday to my wonderful beta who didn't complain about how late this is!
> 
> NOT beta'd by SeetheSea because this is a gift!! Not mine. Marvel's.

As all good things—or bad things, in Tony’s opinion—begin, this adventure started with an evil asshole who decided to kill half the universe and then inconveniently _disappeared._

 

This, of course, led to the ever-cliche moment of weakness on Tony’s part, a motivational speech from Captain America, some weird space-alien chick with glowing hands, a talking raccoon, and a depressed god of thunder. As all good (or bad) things have.

 

And, as all good and bad things do, their latest adventure was caused by an accident.

 

They tracked down Thanos fairly quickly for a ‘technologically inferior’ civilization, in the words of Thor, Carol, and the raccoon. It ended up being a simple algorithm designed to track the Stones’ energy signatures. Once he used the Gauntlet again (which didn’t take long, unsurprisingly), they had a lock on his location and they were gunning it for some random planet in the ‘Nova Core,’ whatever that meant.

 

As mentioned earlier, Steve “I’m Captain America so listen to me” Rogers issued a hell of a motivational speech to get their heart rates ratcheting up before their big battle. Tony just barely contained his bitterness and settled for pulling a face behind the Captain’s back.

 

The spaceship that he and Nebula had returned in was battered, completely devoid of resources, but it was _seriously_ cool nonetheless. The deep-space capabilities, the navigation tech, the respirators, just… _all_ of it.

 

The other Avengers seemed just as affected as Tony had been when he first boarded. Well, except for a few. The raccoon and Nebula strode onto the ship with no hesitation, and Thor and Carol only paused to eye the ship, unimpressed, before climbing aboard. Steve stared up at it, that longing look creeping onto his face, and Tony fought down a pang of whatever feeling that look had evoked once upon a time. He had appreciated Steve’s awe in modern technology for a while. Back when the world was simpler.

 

The fight was briefer than he expected, honestly. Although to be fair, he could have missed half of it.

 

Thanos was, of all things, _farming._ He had been honest-to-God _hoeing_ in the fields when they crept up on him. He was still wearing the Gauntlet, but it was blackened and burned, just like the rest of his left arm. Thor was _this close_ to removing his head from his shoulders when the purple giant stiffened, raised a hand, and hit Thor squarely in the stomach with a full-powered blast.

 

Stormbreaker still connected, but it tore a gash in Thanos’s side rather than killing him. Nebula screamed a challenge, and from there Tony’s memory got a little fuzzy.

 

There was a big fight, with flashing lights and lots of explosions. Carol was actually super impressive-looking, and Thor rejoined the battle with a limp and glowing eyes. Random details stuck in Tony’s brain: the exact pattern of the rips on Thor’s cape, the manner in which the extra spinal protection was burned away from the War Machine armor, the way Steve’s suit stretched across his ass.

 

Then the Gauntlet was pointed at Steve’s prone form, and Tony’s mind flew from his helmet and went right to Steve. He had just gotten his arms around him (to get him to safety, to _save him)_ when the blast came.

 

And, as all good and bad things begin with, something went wrong.

 

The look on Thanos’s face when a blast from the Space Stone became intermingled with green and yellow wisps—the Time and Mind Stones—was more of an indication of the error than the appearance of the energy. He obviously hadn’t meant to do such a thing, but before Tony could react, his vision went white.

 

\---

 

Steve Rogers was not having the best day.

 

First, Fury had dragged him into the biggest fight that he’d been in since World War II, complete with two alien gods, a man with a suit of robot armor, a man who turned into a monster when he got angry, a mind-controlled sniper using a bow and arrow, and a flying aircraft carrier. Then, Phil Coulson, his apparent “Number One Fan” had been murdered in cold blood with his Captain America trading cards _still in his jacket,_ ready for Steve to sign.

 

And now he was standing in the ruined streets of New York City, staring up at a portal to the other end of the universe and waiting _(hoping)_ for the son of Howard Stark to fall out the other side.

 

When he saw the mushroom cloud grow larger, rippling out towards the gap, Steve felt his heart drop. He waited one more beat, two, three, until the roar of the blast started vibrating in his ears.

 

“Close it,” He ordered resignedly. He could tell that Romanoff had somehow disabled the machine, because the portal began to shrink, collapsing in on itself.

 

Right as it shrank into nothing, the portal contorted and flashed a mixture of blue, yellow, and green, and the Iron Man suit tumbled out of thin air.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Steve remarked, trying to suppress his relieved smile.

 

Then, just as the portal curled in on itself and collapsed, two more foreign figures appeared. It seemed like they’d had momentum before entering, because one, glinting in the sun, shot straight horizontally and the other, not propelled as far, was sent hurtling diagonally from the portal site. Even with his serum-enhanced vision, Steve couldn’t make out any exact details but for their humanoid shapes.

 

The Iron Man suit continued to fall, limp, and Thor growled, “He’s not slowing down,” and started whirling his hammer in a circle.

 

“Multiple bogeys just left the portal,” Natasha announced tersely. “Don’t seem like Chitauri—looks like the hive mind collapsed. Thor, intercept?”

 

The Hulk smashed into the broken Iron Man suit, cradling it in one giant fist, and Thor said, “Yes, I can do that.”

 

Then, even though Tony Stark has been deposited on the cracked pavement by the Hulk, Steve caught the unmistakable whine of Iron Man’s repulsors as one of the objects in the sky caught the other and shot up into the sky.

 

“Thor, wait!” Steve found himself shouting at the demigod already shooting towards the two that had come out of the portal. “That looks like—”

 

“It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed him, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

 

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

 

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced—well, to your standards, at least. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

 

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, straining to move his arms in the locked joints and obviously not listening to Thor. Steve’s attention was torn between what Thor was saying in his ear and what Stark was complaining about.

 

“What’s going on? Did Thor kiss me and now he’s running away? Point Break, I swear—”

 

“—They both look hurt,” Thor noted at the same time. “They aren’t attacking me. The suit… whoever is inside is waving at me. Should I…”

 

“They don’t look hostile, Cap,” Hawkeye confirmed. Steve didn’t know Clint well enough to trust him fully, especially after being freed from Loki’s mind control only a few hours prior, but Natasha’s faith in him reassured him a little. “And Thor’s right—it looks like you two.”

 

Steve wondered, briefly, how his and _Stark’s_ counterparts, of all the combinations, are the ones who have ended up here. If they were really them. And that was a thought: what if they were decoys sent by Loki, trying to shield some secret weapon about to descend on the city?

 

But Loki was currently lying in a crater in Stark Tower, as reported by Natasha. His army was defeated, the portal closed. Nothing else had escaped; there would be no reason for Loki to try and trick them. It was over.

 

Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved. “Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. Thor, big guy, I _know_ you have a big hammer, you don’t have to—ah, shit. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. Well, uh… shit, what’s something Loki wouldn’t know? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re _my comms._ No, not _that—”_

 

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t _said_ _anything_ when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

 

“Um… okay. Um. I’m blanking. What’s something that only they would know? _Besides_ the stupid argument, Steve, Jesus.”

 

“That’s definitely Stark,” Natasha announced dryly. The real Tony made an indignant sound.

 

“—Fine, whatever,” The other Stark continued in the same breath. “Uh, when the Mind Stone—shit. When the, uh, scepter thing was messing with our brains, Cap asked me what I was without the suit and I said that I was a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, or something. And then he said something about—”

 

“That’s enough,” Steve interrupted hastily. He didn’t want to hear his cruel words reflected back at him before he could properly apologize. “Thor, get them to Stark Tower. The top floor. Um, maybe grab Loki first.”

 

“I’m on my way to Loki now,” Natasha reported, and Clint grunted over comms, saying something about broken glass and _stupid windows._ Steve decided to not read too much into it.

 

The Hulk snarled up at the top of Stark Tower, bunched his legs, and leaped straight up. He landed on the balcony where Loki and Thor had been fighting and disappeared. If Loki had gotten back up, he’d be in for a nasty surprise.

 

Steve watched a red blur that he identified as Thor shoot off towards the Tower too, followed by a shape that was unmistakably the Iron Man suit with the orange repulsors jetting from the hands and feet. And there was something blue attached to his side.

 

Oh, joy.

 

Stark, the only one left on the ground next to him, groaned and asked, “How are we supposed to get up there?”

 

Five minutes, a whole lot of pulling from Steve’s end, and a lot of creaking metal later, Tony was on his feet. The billionaire eyed the entrance to the Tower dubiously and then said, “Thor, zap me, would you?”

 

“Stark,” Clint said accusingly. “Are you using the alien god as your glorified charger?”

 

“Maybe,” Tony answered amiably as static lifted the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck. A tiny bolt of lighting (well, tiny compared to some of the others that Steve had seen Thor summon during the fight) arced downwards from the Tower and collided with the chest plate of the armor. Stark’s hair stood on end, but the chestpiece began to glow.

 

He shook his head rapidly, but when he stretched a palm out, a beam of light burned a hole in the concrete of the building opposite them. He smiled maniacally at Steve. “Ready for the ride of your life?”

 

Steve was almost tempted to take the stairs, but before he could voice a protest, Stark had a hand wrapped around the back of the harness on Steve’s back and suddenly they were flying.

 

Steve was proud to admit that he didn’t throw up or scream. He was fairly certain that he did let out a rather undignified yelp, but he was pretty sure that the wind had torn it away. And since Tony had no helmet, there was almost no way that he could have heard.

 

Halfway up the Tower, Stark’s boosters jerkily, horrifyingly, gave out. The armor made a choking, groaning sound, almost like it was wheezing out its final breath. Steve’s stomach lurched sickeningly, and Tony was yelling _Come on!_ and he pounded on the chest plate with his free hand so hard that the metal dented.

 

They started to fall, and right before Steve closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see himself hit the pavement, they cut back in. Stark whooped, and Steve belatedly realized that they had at least two other team members who could fly, not to mention whoever else was up in the Tower.

 

“Dramatic much, Rogers?” He muttered to himself, and then they were landing.

 

“Wild ride,” Stark said, but he was pale and his dark eyes were dancing almost nervously. He wouldn’t meet Steve’s gaze. “Um, shall we meet our...selves?”

 

The floor trembled as the Hulk roared, and Steve winced. “Guess so.”

 

It was much less anticlimactic than Steve expected. And yes, he meant _less_ anticlimactic, not more. So, it was climactic, he supposed. Because he had only expected minor changes to both him and Stark. Changes, yes, of course, because that was natural, but Steve had been asleep for seventy years—how much could they have changed in only a few more?

 

He was wrong.

 

What was immediately apparent was something that scientists even back in his day had said: you wouldn’t recognize yourself if you ran into your clone on the street. Steve’s own face, unmasked, with his cowl hanging off his shoulders, was almost alien to him—had his nose always been that shape? The uniform had changed, too: less gaudy colors and hideous styling choices, if Steve had to say so himself. The material looked reinforced and like it fit much better than Steve’s current uniform.

 

His face didn’t seem like it had changed much. It was still disorienting and pretty disturbing to be seeing his double standing in front of him, but he managed to look past the dizziness. There were deeper lines carved into his forehead and mouth, although his smile lines hadn’t deepened very much. His hair was combed back from his head in what seemed to Steve like a more modern hairstyle, although he couldn’t be sure of anything. The armor, like Steve’s own, was dirtied, burned, like his alternate had just been through a battle.

 

The other Stark’s faceplate was still down, but if everything that Steve has seen hadn’t confirmed what the alternate Stark has said about time travel, this did it.

 

Steve was already (secretly) _extremely_ impressed by the versatility and design of his Tony Stark’s Iron Man armor. This other suit, though, seemed impossible. Where the old Iron Man suit was bulky or sharp-edged, this suit was curved and sleek. More of the design was gold instead of red—the arms and legs, mostly. It looked like the metal bent and flexed whenever Stark moved… the other Stark, that was.

 

“ _Didn’t know I was so ugly in person,”_ Both of the Starks said at the same time, and both Steve and his double rolled their eyes.

 

“You can’t even see his face,” Steve complained to Tony. The armor grated when he tried to shrug.

 

“Enough!” Thor snapped, and he sounded angry. “Why have you come here? Are you truly—”

 

“From the future?” The other Stark interrupted easily. “I mean, you got a better idea?”

 

“My brother is skilled in the art of _seidr.”_

 

Stark—the future Stark—waved a hand dismissively, and Steve noticed for the first time that some of the plating of his left arm was exposed, burned away. Even his Tony’s armor hadn’t taken a hit like that; scraped to hell, sure, but not _burned away._ There were layers of intertwined metal underneath the plating; a hollow mesh to help keep the armor’s integrity, presumably. Steve could glimpse glowing circuits and damaged wires, and it occurred to him that Tony had built this suit from scratch. “Loki’s lying in a crater that Hulk made for him. I don’t think he’s up for anything right now. I can tell you anything about yourself, but I get the feeling that you don’t want me spilling your secrets to everyone on the team.”

 

“Guy’s right,” Natasha said over comms. “Loki is down. Uh, very down.”

 

Thor’s jaw tightened. Steve’s alternate raised his hands placatingly. “Look, we don’t mean any harm—”

 

“You sound like an alien,” Stark complained. “What’s next, _take us to your leader?”_ Steve’s Tony rolled his eyes.

 

“Didn’t realize my voice was so obnoxious.”

 

“Didn’t realize _my_ voice was so obnoxious,” The other Stark countered. Tony just sighed.

 

“We had an incident with some of the Infinity Stones,” Rogers—Steve resolved to call the alternates by their last names before his brain had a meltdown—said. “They probably interacted with the Stones here.”

 

Stones? Steve shifted his weight, trying not to betray his confusion too badly. His double still eyed him knowingly. What were the Infinity Stones?

 

“The Infinity Stones have been lost to time,” Thor countered. “The only one here is the Tesseract, and there’s no possibility—”

 

“Loki’s scepter is here, isn’t it?” Stark asked. “Mind Stone’s still active in there.”

 

Thor looked personally affronted by the very suggestion, but Stark sounded sure. Steve wasn’t even sure what the Mind Stone was.

 

“Ever heard of Thanos?” Stark continued, and Thor went very still.

 

“Why?” The god asked carefully. “The Titan is—”

 

“Planning to destroy the universe?” Stark interrupted. “Or half of it, I guess. I didn’t know you knew who he was.”

 

Steve was surprised that one mention of this Thanos had shaken Thor like this. He’d only known the god for a day or two, but he seemed supremely unbothered by anything thrown his way. He’d smiled when he was fighting the Hulk, who even Steve was wary of. To see him so pale…

 

“Stories,” Thor said. “Almost legends, now. He lived in the outreaches of the Nova system for ages before the Nova Prime forced him out. His past is a violent one—after Titan was destroyed, he began… I’m not sure how this will translate to your tongue. He… systematically, I believe you could call it, wiped out half the population of any planet he came across. There hasn’t been tell of him for… a few years, I believe.”

 

“Well, he comes back, hellbent on _fixing the universe,_ ” Stark exclaimed, false bravado dripping from his voice. “And then _Captain America_ here decided to get hit—”

 

“You decided to jump in the way,” Rogers grumbled.

 

“ _—Decided to get hit,”_ Stark emphasized firmly. “Thanos collected all of the Infinity Stones and snapped half the universe into oblivion—hey, should I be telling them this? Am I destroying our universe and the space-time continuum?”

 

Steve didn’t know what the space-time continuum was, but he wasn’t feeling any adverse effects at the moment. Tony tried to shrug again, but the armor protested with a grating screech. “Too late now.”

 

“Fair enough.” Stark’s faceplate finally retracted, the entire helmet crawling backwards and dissolving into the armor. Tony eyed the tech, envy clear in his gaze. Steve was too busy studying this new Tony Stark, because he had changed much more than Steve himself.

 

The most startling detail was the blood painting half of Stark’s face red. A cut on his hairline had bled all the way down his neck and pooled at the shirt that poked out of the suit. He didn’t seem perturbed by the mess, and it struck Steve how much older Stark looked.

 

His hair had lightened; to a grey or a blonde, Steve couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t the dark brown that Tony sported currently. Worry lines had carved themselves deep into his face. His signature (well, signature as far as Steve could tell) facial hair had faded to a lighter shade of brown. The red blood made his eyes look black.

 

“So, half the universe is dead,” Stark summarized, and even from twenty feet away, Steve could see the pain that flitted across his features. “And we’d really rather get out of your hair. Is the Tesseract—”

 

Thor seemed to shake off the stupor that the name Thanos had put him into, and some of that righteous anger returned. “The Tesseract belongs on Asgard—” He began, but Stark cut him off.

 

“I know, buddy, but when you brought that doohickey back to Asgard, not much good came from that.” Thor frowned, and static began to fizz in Steve’s ears again. “I just need a couple days to figure out how to replicate a blast from _three_ of the stones if I only have two here. Well, I guess the Time Stone _is_ here. Wonder how much convincing it would take for me to snag it from Kamar-Taj.”

  
  
“Karma- _what?”_ Tony repeated. “What do you mean, the Time Stone?”

 

Thor clenched his jaw. “Three stones on one planet? You’re practically begging for trouble. I should take the Scepter and the Tesseract and return them to Asgard—”

 

Stark waved a hand in dismissal. “It’ll just take a few days, there, Kal-El, okay? You can take it back as soon as I’m done. For right now, I’m pretty sure you can stick Reindeer Games in… I built the cold-storage vault already, right?”

 

Tony started. “Uh, how’d you… oh, never mind. Yeah.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn’t bother asking what had incentivized that project.

 

“Just stick Loki down there for a few days,” Stark suggested, then smirked. “Let him cool down a little.”

 

Tony groaned exaggeratedly. “I can’t believe you’re me. That was terrible.”

 

\---

 

They ended up having to argue with the Secretary of the World Security Council and a special elite SHIELD squad headed by Brock Rumlow (and Steve didn’t understand when he watched from around a corner as Rogers practically snarled at Rumlow to hand the Scepter over; Tony told him later that Stark had gone scarily intense when he encountered Pierce), but they managed to retain custody of the Tesseract and the Scepter for seven days before SHIELD would “have to take permanent custody of the highly dangerous alien artifacts.”

 

“Thor’s a highly dangerous alien artifact,” Stark grumbled later. “He’s older than those assholes’ great-great-great-great-grandfathers. Hey, does Fury know they’re H—”

 

Rogers slapped a hand over Stark’s mouth so fast that Steve blinked. Stark’s eyes flashed with vicious fury, and he shoved both hands so hard into Rogers’s chest that the soldier took several stumbling steps backwards. Stark deliberately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stormed away.

 

Steve first noticed the tension between their future selves right around then—the first day, really, of what would hopefully be less than seven. Namely, the high concentration of it.

 

Whenever Steve saw them speaking, they were arguing. It was mostly about irrelevant things, Steve thought—what Rogers had suggested about the future, apparently contrary to Stark’s opinion; something Stark had said about technology here compared to that of the future that had apparently irked Rogers. But sometimes it was about things that Steve didn’t understand, nor did he want to.

 

Once, the day after their arrival—day two of seven, Steve supposed—, late at night, Steve almost walked into the room in the middle of a hissed argument that the two were having in the kitchen. He halted in the doorway, and almost turned around, until he heard Stark demand, “You _want_ to tell them?”

 

Steve froze. He knew that both Natasha and Clint were still wary of them, but they were spies; it was practically in their nature to be suspicious. But if they were arguing about keeping secrets…

 

Steve had a terrible moment when he wanted to know exactly what would happen in the future. Whether anything would actually work out for him. He wanted to grab his alternate by the shoulders and shake him and shake him until Steve knew everything.

 

But he didn’t. Instead, he stood in the shadowed doorway and listened.

 

“You _know_ what they would do,” Stark spat, sounding more incensed than Steve had ever heard him. “They’re not even friends now. They’d kill each other.”

 

“He doesn’t even know yet,” Rogers protested, sounding aggrieved. “There’d be nothing to be mad about—”

 

“ _And what happens once they start arguing about it?”_ Stark interrupted shrilly. “Once they realize he’s alive and what he did, they’re going to start disagreeing right away, you know they are.”

 

Steve wished they would stop using such vague pronouns. Who had done what?

 

Rogers had clearly made some sort of expression, because Stark muttered, “This is fucking typical. Typical, Rogers.”

 

Steve heard Stark’s footsteps and realized that he was about to storm out of the kitchen. He took several rapid steps backwards, glancing desperately around for a hiding place and rueing his lack of familiarity with this part of the building.

 

He managed to squeeze himself into a gap between the refrigerator and the counter, which Steve found impressive despite himself. Just in the nick of time, too—Stark stormed past him, muttering to himself. His hands were shaking.

 

There was a sound of glass shattering and metal crumpling, and when Steve walked into the kitchen the next morning like nothing was amiss, there was a poorly-concealed hole punched through the wall. Stark, when he came into the kitchen, had dark circles under his eyes, and when he saw the damage that Rogers had done, he stiffened, pressed a hand against his chest, and fled the room.

 

Another thing Steve noticed was what a cynic that his future self had become. Steve tried (and struggled, most of the time) to maintain a somewhat optimistic outlook on life. Tony had already begun teasing him about it—when he wasn’t in the lab, messing around with the Tesseract and the Scepter with Stark and Bruce, he was deliberately misquoting Steve’s own words at him.

 

(Once, on the first day, Steve had picked up a phone call half-asleep and mumbled, “It’s me.” Without hesitating, Clint, hyped up on coffee, had completed with far too much enthusiasm with, “Mario!”)

 

(Tony looked Steve dead in the eye, said, “I understood that reference,” and gracefully accepted the high-five from Stark.)

 

Rogers was almost the complete opposite. He still did a few optimistic things here and there: encouraging Tony, Stark, and Bruce to keep working when they got down; offering Steve a smile when he found himself in the gym, whaling on the punching bags so hard that he could barely breathe; not protesting when Natasha snatched a pastry from his hand and taking a big bite. On the surface, he was just a little more closed-off, a little colder.

 

The look in his eyes gave it away for Steve. It took a few days for him to notice—day four of seven, what had to be seven before they exploded—, but once he did, it was unmistakable. The steely look in his alternate’s eyes, the constant set of his shoulders like he was expecting to be hit from behind, the way his jaw set whenever Stark spoke or whenever their future was brought up.

 

Hardened, was the only word that Steve could come up with. Rogers was battle-hardened.

 

He had seen men like that in the war; mostly men that they encountered and freed from the POW camps. Like they couldn’t imagine anything except more violence, another stab in the back. He flinched at loud noises, kept a larger-than-necessary distance between himself and the two Asgardian artifacts.

 

Steve couldn’t stop wondering what had happened. Or what would happen, he supposed. Provided that their future selves’ very presence hadn’t sent their timeline spiraling off into an alternate universe. He withheld himself from asking, though; it wasn’t like they needed more opportunity to mess their world up.

 

Stark was a whole different box to unpack. He was skittish, quiet, while Tony was abrasive and loud. His words were bitterer than even Rogers’s, and if certain topics were brought up, especially by Rogers, his eyes would flash with such utter malice that Steve and Rogers would take a step back. His arc reactor was a different shape, protruding more than the circular one that Tony wore, and whenever Rogers stood close, he curled one hand towards it. Steve could have seen that as a move to protect the cracked ribs that Bruce had wrapped, but the only place that Stark ever protected was his chest, not his torso.

 

Stark was absolutely furious. And for the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure out why.

 

Their tempers continued to fray. Thor was obviously only sticking around Earth due to Loki’s presence in the basement of the Tower, and Steve barely saw the god on his in-between visits to the city. Natasha and Clint vanished (day two of seven) after they were sure that Stark and Rogers weren’t any threat with only a short explanation to JARVIS—probably back to SHIELD, but it was still disconcerting for the Tower to be so empty. Bruce mostly stayed in the lab, working with Tony and Stark, so Steve was often left alone.

 

Once, the fourth day of seven of their alternates’ presence, Steve found Rogers sitting on the couch in the living room, cross-legged, staring vacantly at a sketchbook in his lap. The drawing was half-finished, unrefined, but Steve could still tell what it was.

 

It was the Avengers.

 

But there were more than six of them—there were so many more than six. Steve could see himself standing with some of his Avengers in the front, but Steve could make out vague details of others standing near the foreground of the sketch.

 

The only original member missing was Thor, and next to the only five that Steve recognized was a woman in red leathers, something swirling around her hands. A man with a cape over his shoulders and short-cropped hair, his figure smudged, stood next to Tony’s image. Another man in an Iron Man suit that Steve recognized as Colonel Rhodes, Tony’s best friend, stood on the other side of the group next to a man with apparently red skin.

 

The rest of the people stood behind them, and most of them were impossible to make out, as their faces had been violently X-ed out. The woman in front and the red man had received similar treatment. There were a few that were spared: a bald woman with a blue-and-silver face, a legitimate raccoon wearing some sort of outfit, a woman with sandy hair in red and blue. But the sheer amount of scribbled-out faces was astonishing in itself.

 

Rogers finally caught of Steve standing over his shoulder and jumped. He followed Steve’s gaze to the drawing in his lap and hastily flipped to a blank page. “Um, what can I do for you?”

 

Steve shifted on his feet and realized that he didn’t actually have a reason to be in there. He fumbled for words for a moment before settling on: “I was wondering if you were busy.” That was a lie, but he did want to have a conversation with his future self at some point. “I think we’re the only non-geniuses in the Tower right now.”

 

Rogers smiled a little, and God, it was still disconcerting to see his own face forming expressions that weren’t his own. “Fair enough,” He conceded.

 

Steve took that as an invitation and sat down in the armchair beside the sofa. “So,” He said, smiling wryly. “What’s the future like?”

 

This didn’t exactly provoke the reaction Steve was going for; Rogers, instead of laughing at Steve’s (admittedly terrible) joke, he just sighed. “Not so great,” He admitted, and his fingers clenched around the sketchbook. “But Tony—uh, Stark—is very insistent that I don’t create a time paradox by telling you about it.”

 

Steve, despite himself, felt a pang of irritation. Rogers, from what he’d overheard in the kitchen, wanted to tell them something vital to their future. And Stark, from both his words and his tone, was clearly vehemently against that. Obviously, Rogers had deferred to Stark.

 

“I get that,” he said instead of arguing. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to doom the entire universe.”

 

Rogers’ face fell almost comically. He shifted, staring back down at his sketchbook, and Steve felt unease twist his gut.

 

“Doom the entire universe,” Rogers repeated half-heartedly. “Yeah, that would suck.”

 

 _Snapped half the universe into oblivion,_ Stark had said. Steve hadn’t decided to take that at face value until right now. Steve decided not to press, but his expression must have been giving his curiosity away, because Rogers’ gaze softened.

 

“It gets better,” He said, and Steve froze. “Feels less like you’re a fish out of water and more like you belong. You make friends. Both new and old. Just… just watch your back. And listen to Tony—your Tony. He’s right about more than you know.”

 

“He’s a little… arrogant,” Steve hedged, although he didn’t really mean it. Rogers snorted.

 

“I promise you, that’s just a mask. Just… take the time to get to know him. I promise, it’s worth your while. I know he can be difficult. Kind of arrogant. Tony Stark is a lot of things, but—”

 

“Shit-talking me, Rogers?”

 

Steve whirled.

 

Stark was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes dark. “You know, I’d say that’s pretty middle schooler of you, but I’ve learned you’re not above that.”

 

“I wasn’t—” Rogers started to protest, but Stark cut him off.

 

“Keeping secrets, too? That’s also pretty in character.”

 

Rogers’ cheeks were starting to turn pink, and Steve realized that his tells hadn’t changed in the years that had passed. He was getting defensive.

 

“I’m not the only one keeping secrets,” Rogers said, a falsely cool tone creeping into his voice. Stark actually _laughed,_ clapping his hands together in apparent mirth, although the smile didn’t get close to reaching his eyes.

 

“That’s classic.” Stark’s hands were shaking, Steve noted. Unnoticed by both Stark and Rogers, Tony and Natasha (who had apparently arrived sometime during the night) crept into the room. Tony’s eyes were wide as he stared incredulously at his future self. “Why, oh why, would I keep secrets from you? Wouldn’t that be so hypocritical of me? Well, actually, I’m sure that serum helped your brain _somehow,_ Rogers, I bet you can _figure it out.”_

 

“I didn’t—” Rogers started again, but the flush had continued to creep up his neck.

 

“Didn’t _what?”_ Stark demanded, and he was practically yelling now. His voice was growing higher. Hysterical. “What _didn’t you do?_ I’m legitimately curious, here, honestly, because last I checked you’ve done nothing but keep secrets. Please, go on.”

 

Rogers looked pained. “Tony, I was just trying to do what was best for the team. You have to understand that.”

 

“No, you know what, that’s _bullshit._ All you were concerned with was your good old B—brainwashed friend. _I_ was worrying about the team since Ultron.”

 

Rogers’s face hardened, and Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He was starting to feel like he was intruding on something deeply personal; something that had been simmering under the surface the entire time that their alternates had been here.

 

“Ultron almost destroyed the world,” Rogers snapped. “You built him, and he murdered dozens.”

 

Venom flashed across Stark’s face, but Steve realized that that was only on the surface. Stark was trying his best to hide something: pain. Gut-wrenching, incredible pain.

 

“Ultron was my solution.” Stark shoved his hands forcefully in his pockets, as though that would hide their shaking. “And if I recall, it wasn’t just me. Bruce and Wanda Maximoff had a pretty significant hand in that. But that’s still not the point—nuh uh, Steve, do _not_ start with me.”

 

Rogers had made a move to interrupt, but he sat back in his seat, eyes flashing.

 

“The _point,”_ Stark stressed, pulling one hand out of his pocket to gesture at Steve. “Is that I have been warning you about this happening for years and then _guess what happened?”_ He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging on it hard, and Rogers still wasn’t speaking up.

 

“I created Ultron because I was scared,” Stark admitted. “What I saw in that portal—it was terrifying. He knows.” Stark flicked his gaze over to Tony, who looked startled. Steve hadn’t even realized that Stark knew he was in the room. “There is _nothing_ worse than realizing that the aliens that attacked you… how’d Fury put it? _Hopelessly outgun_ you. Rogers, I warned you we’d lose and you said that _we’d do that together too._

 

“Well, we did lose!” Stark raged, and Steve felt his lips part. What had happened? How had they _lost?_  “We lost, and I lost, and you lost, and Thor lost—we. All. Lost. And you wanna know why? Because you and your stubborn, supposedly-righteous ass couldn’t understand the greater good.”

 

Rogers’s tone grew offended. “The Accords were not a greater _anything,_ Tony. Government control like that is not any solution—”

 

Suddenly, Stark’s voice was pitched low and sounded very, very tired.

 

“What did you do to stop him?”

 

“What?” Rogers asked blankly, clearly caught off guard by the rapid change in subject. Stark continued, undaunted.

 

“We nearly got the Gauntlet off him. I drew his blood and he threw a moon at my face. Thor absorbed the power of a neutron star. You know how hot that is, Rogers? It’s pretty damn hot,” Stark said without waiting for a response. “And what did you do? _You tried to punch Thanos in the face.”_

 

From the scorn in Stark’s voice, Steve gathered that was a bad thing. He felt a twinge of sympathy for his double, but mostly he was confused. Who could throw a moon? And to be quite honest, he wasn’t really sure what a neutron star was.

 

Stark was practically hyperventilating now, but Steve could sense his desire, his _need_ to let everything boil to the surface. He had been holding it together the entire time they’d been here, and Steve could see that now.

 

Stark threw his hands up helplessly, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. “And I lost—I lost—I—the kid… I lost the kid—I lost my kid.”

 

Rogers’s expression twisted, but Steve couldn’t tell if that was from anguish or confusion.

 

“You wanna know what happened? You wanna know what he did? He turned to me, and he told me that he didn’t want to go. He _begged_ me. And I told him that it was going to be okay right before he _fell apart in my arms.”_

 

And then… well, Steve had never seen Tony Stark cry.

 

“He begged me,” Stark repeated blankly. “And I told him it was going to be okay. So you want to know why I’m keeping secrets? That’s why. And you know, we were great for a while. Dating—” Stark choked on the word there, and Steve sat back in his seat. _Dating?_ Was that modern lingo for—

 

“Dating was great. You were a good boyfriend for a while, there. It was a good run. But you—you’re too caught up in your own problems to handle anyone else’s.”

 

Tony made a sound like he’d been punched in the stomach and fled the room. Natasha stayed in the doorway, her eyes narrowed and calculating. Steve was tempted to follow, but he was afraid to move in both Stark and Rogers’s line of sight and disrupt the moment.

 

“No regard for me. What _I_ thought. What _I_ was feeling. You heard his name and your—your brain flew out the window.”

 

Stark’s breathing was hitching, unsteady, and Rogers still wasn’t moving and Steve was frozen and Stark was still talking.

 

“And then, boo-hoo, my friends died. Well guess what, Rogers, we all lost someone. _I lost everything.”_

 

There was no sting left in Stark’s words. Steve hadn’t known either of them for very long, and social cues had changed hugely since the 40s, but even he could recognize that Stark was trying his best to avoid breaking down completely.

 

“Tony,” Rogers said softly, rising to his feet. Stark was wiping futilely at his eyes, but his hands were shaking so badly that he was just smearing the tears down his cheeks.

 

“No,” Stark protested weakly, but it was ignored.

 

“Tony, it’s okay,” Rogers said, and enfolded him in a hug.

 

Steve shot to his feet and made for the door. Natasha was already holding it open, waiting for him.

 

“You have me,” Steve heard Rogers whisper, and Stark let out a strangled sob.

 

“I told him it was going to be okay,” He said, and Steve closed the door behind him.

 

\---

 

Tony was sitting underneath a seldom-used table in his workshop, trying and failing to stop hyperventilating, when the door slid open.

 

He wondered briefly if it was his future self, or maybe Bruce, coming in to further work on their project to reopen the tear between their universes, but a call of: “Tony?” in a familiar spangly tone dispelled that guess.

 

Why on Earth was Steve in his workshop? More importantly, _how_ on Earth had Steve gotten in his workshop?

 

“JARVIS told me you were here,” Steve’s voice continued. “I, ah. Are you okay?”

 

“Peachy,” Tony managed, trying to ignore the rising panic in his throat as he thought about the aliens that he had seen in the portal, trying to articulate them with the one that had (or would) destroy half of the universe and take everything from him.

 

Suddenly Steve was _right there,_ crouching in front of Tony’s hiding space, his blue blue blue eyes peering through Tony’s mask and into his soul and why was Tony just staring—

 

(He could guess how Stark had fallen for him)

 

Steve smiled at Tony, albeit a little sadly. “Look, I don’t know what happened between our future selves. I don’t think I want to. But I think…” Steve rose to his feet. Tony felt a crushing pang of rejection before Steve said, “I think I’d like to be friends anyway.”

 

For Tony’s whole life, Captain America had been an idol that his father had dangled over his head. Something that he could jump and jump and try to reach, but could never quite grasp.

 

Steve extended a hand, and Tony grasped it, and let Steve pull him to his feet.

 

\---

 

“Well, they’ve definitely gotten chummy,” Clint observed from his perch on top of the counter. Tony had learned not to judge Clint on where he decided to plant himself, because a few days ago, the second day of their alternates’ visit, he had grouched about how Clint would scuff the armrests of the chairs if he kept sitting on them and the next day Clint had sat on top of the refrigerator. How he had gotten up there, Tony still didn’t know.

 

It was day six of seven, running out of time, running out of _time,_ and five of the Avengers were gathered in the living room.

 

“Guess they finally got all their shit out in the open,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair at the dining table. “You guys saw Stark’s face these past few days, right?”

  
  
“Unfortunately,” Tony grouched. “I didn’t realize that I look so bad without sleep.”

 

It was much more disconcerting that Tony was letting on to see his own face, aged years into the future and looking far worse for wear. He had noticed the arc reactor’s change, but he hadn’t asked his double about it. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.

 

“You never look bad,” Steve said almost immediately, then blushed when Tony raised an eyebrow at him. Bruce muffled a laugh behind his hand, but ignored Tony’s glare.

 

He refused to think about their future selves’ relationship. He wouldn’t. He and Steve had done nothing but fight this whole time. Getting along was a goal that would probably never be reached.

 

If Tony had a therapist, they would probably tell him that he was making pathetic excuses and remind him of their heart-to-heart two days ago. This was why Tony didn’t have a therapist.

 

“I think it’s a good thing,” Steve reasoned. “I mean, if they really don’t get along in their world, it’s gotta help them to actually agree on something now.”

  
  
“Right,” Natasha said idly. She was staring at a security feed of their future selves in the spare lab that Tony had given them. They were holding hands. “Agreeing on something.”

  
  
Tony realized what she was insinuating and resisted the urge to throw up in his mouth. He was not thinking about this right now. His brain would explode.

 

Steve didn’t seem to be getting it, but everyone else was. Now Clint was covering a laugh too, and Natasha didn’t bother hiding her mischievous grin.

 

“I hate all of you,” Tony announced, and shut down the video feed.

 

“On a more serious note,” Natasha said, sobering, “We’ve got a day, max, before SHIELD gets up your asses—especially you, Stark—about the Tesseract and the Scepter. They’ve called me and Clint in. And if what Stark and Rogers said was true, then Thor’s going to have to take them both and we’ll be out of options.”

 

That was certainly a mood-killer. Steve straightened. “Bruce, Tony, is there any way—”

 

Bruce pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Tony was feeling about the same. He hadn’t slept in two days, actually, but he was sure that Bruce had pulled something similar. “Slim, I guess. It really just depends on how the simulations I’m running turn out. Realistically, we need a way to replicate the situation in which they were dragged here. Which, with our resources right now…”

 

“Isn’t possible,” Tony finished. It was a shame, really. The Scepter had readings like a highly-developed artificial intelligence and they were using it to try and figure out time travel. “Unless I can get that last Stone that they were talking about—Time, or whatever—then I don’t know that I’ll be able to do it before SHIELD takes it.”

 

Steve’s expression twisted. “If that’s true, and they’re stuck here… what happens once we reach their point in our future?”

 

Honestly, Tony didn’t really have an answer for him. Bruce’s helpless expression betrayed his uncertainty too. Steve let out a deep sigh.

 

“Well, let’s hope we figure it out.”

 

\---

 

On day seven of seven, they hadn’t figured it out and it was too late.

 

( _You’re always too late,_ a voice in Tony’s head whispered. _Too late for Yinsen. Too late for Coulson. Almost too late for Pepper. Now too late for Steve.)_

 

(Tony didn’t have a counter-argument for himself).

 

SHIELD came to the Tower, Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow heading the entourage. Natasha stood directly behind them, arms crossed, looking pissed off. Clint was nowhere to be found.

 

Steve, Tony, and Thor met them in the lobby. Tony stood at the front, Thor to his left and Steve to his right. Thor’s expression was mutinous and tense, and Tony could almost feel the sparks flying from his armor.

 

“Your seven days are up, Mr. Stark,” Pierce said smugly. “The Tesseract and the Scepter, please.”

 

Rogers and Stark were watching on the cameras. There had to be a way to convince them to let them keep them.

 

“Do not let them take the Tesseract,” Rogers said firmly in his ear. “The Scepter, either, if you can help it.”

 

“I require the Tesseract,” Thor said smoothly before Tony could open his mouth. “It belongs on Asgard, and besides, there is no other way for me to return to my home without it.”

 

Pierce’s expression turned mulish and his mouth twisted into a frown. “The Tesseract has been in SHIELD custody for nearly sixty years—”

 

“And it was on Asgard for more than a thousand,” Thor interrupted, a storm edging his voice. “Do not presume to think that sixty years is a long time, human. I was alive when your ancestors had not been born.”

 

Well that was certainly a way to dissuade someone, Tony supposed. Pierce looked unsettled for the first time since Tony had met him.

 

“Thor will take the Tesseract,” Tony interrupted easily. “And the Scepter, too, I assume…? It was Loki’s, so alien, and he’s alien.”

 

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but over the comms, Stark’s voice came through faintly. “Steve, what about—Vision won’t—of—” Tony wasn’t sure what that had to do with any sort of eyesight, but Rogers sighed heavily. “Thor, let them take it. Just make sure Fury knows about it.”

 

Pierce had had gone off on a tangent that Tony had managed to entirely tune out, but Thor had obviously been half-listening to both conversations. He had been raised as a prince, Tony realized belatedly—he had to know how to handle delicate diplomatic situations.

 

Thor dipped his head. “The Scepter may be released to your care. Temporarily.”

 

Wordlessly, Steve held out the case containing the Scepter. Rumlow, not bothering to hide his glee, took it. Steve looked like he was barely stopping himself from punching the agent in the teeth. Tony kind of wondered why.

 

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Stark,” Pierce said, almost _purred,_ something predatory and base in his gaze, and yeah, okay, Tony could kind of see why Steve wanted to kill them.

 

“Make sure that gets filed through Nick Fury,” Stark snapped over comms, his voice perfectly clear now. “Don’t let it drop off the map.”

 

“I look forward to reading your report about that asset to Director Fury,” Steve called after them, and Tony watched Rumlow’s shoulders go rigid. Natasha wavered for a moment as her superior turned around and went towards the door. She caught Rumlow’s arm, and her fingers went white as she squeezed. She said something to him and paced over to Steve, Tony, and Thor instead of following.

 

“Sorry about that, boys,” She said, and something about her voice seemed genuinely pained. “I hate those sons-of-bitches.”

\---

 

If the good or the bad thing started with a mistake, it ended with Thor.

 

On day eight of seven, when Tony no longer felt like his head was going to combust with his pure, unadulterated fury towards his Steve, they were too late. The Scepter was gone, confiscated, out of their reach. Tony was loath to argue with Pierce and Rumlow, especially with their affinity towards many-headed organizations that tended to blow up whoever got in their way. Thor had agreed to stay in the Tower for a little while longer for them to continue using the Tesseract, but without the Mind Stone, the cause was practically lost. Tony was going to be stuck in 2012 for the rest of his life.

 

He felt panic bubble up from his stomach and fill his lungs at that. He was going to be stuck in 2012. He was going to be stuck in a world where all of the relationships he’d developed were moot; a world where Tony Stark, the _real_ Tony Stark, wasn’t him. He was an outsider. An imposter.

 

Steve placed a hand over his, as though sensing his mood change, and whispered, “We’ll figure it out.

 

The terrible thing was, they didn’t. Neither did his past self, nor Bruce, nor Jane Foster or Erik Selvig, both of whom were dusted and dead, very, very dead, on his world. Without the Time and Mind Stones, they were screwed.

 

None of the Avengers confronted that possibility. And wasn’t that disconcerting—the fact that he was seeing Natasha, her trust issues still cut deep into her soul and to whom family was a foreign term; Clint, whose family wasn’t dead yet, whose mind was ravaged by Loki and yet still stood strong; Bruce, whose eyes were so afraid and so ready to run that it hurt Tony’s heart; Thor, still fresh-eyed and optimistic and untouched by the grief of burned worlds and broken bodies that weighed down his shoulders; Steve, still lost in this new century yet terribly, horribly naive and oblivious about his feelings; Tony himself, his heart hurting and aching and his mind singing with panic and fear and not-yet-realized PTSD from a mushroom cloud in distant space and the realization that _we’re not alone_ that was almost left in the stardust. It was sobering, these Avengers that didn’t know each other, didn’t _trust_ each other.

 

Interesting, how time changed one’s perspective.

 

Tony went up to the roof and sat there for a good, long while. His legs dangled off the side and in the cold night air, New York City glowed on the horizon. No dust clogging the air, no half-collapsed buildings that had never been repaired. It was just home.

 

“JARVIS?” Tony asked softly, and he heard the telltale click that meant that JARVIS had focused his attention on the area. Tony suspected that JARVIS only did that to humor him.

 

“Sir?”

  
  
Tony pressed a fist to his mouth and tried desperately not to cry. He hadn’t had the guts to try and speak to JARVIS his entire time at the Tower. Even after all these years, with Vision using JARVIS’s voice and some of his behaviors, his wound was still raw.

 

“Will you do something for me, J?”

 

“I will perform to the best of my ability, sir.”

  
  
“Just…” Tony hugged one knee to his chest and rested his chin on top of it. “Look after them, okay? Don’t… don’t let them fall apart.”

  
  
There was a long, long silence. Tony took a deep, steadying breath. “And try not to let him lose you, yeah?”

  
  
JARVIS’s voice was quiet and lined with a sympathy that Tony was sure he’d never programmed into him. “Of course, sir.”

 

\---

 

The next day, it was over. The good or bad thing began with a mistake and ended with Thor. Tony was sure of that now.

 

Steve was with Tony, Stark, and Bruce, watching as they studied readings from the Tesseract and pulled up old data on the Mind Stone, when JARVIS pulled up an alert on the screen in front of his face and said, “Sir, there’s been an anomaly.”

  
  
Tony immediately perked up, as did Stark, which Steve didn’t think he’d ever stop being amused at. “What kind of anomaly?” they asked at the same time, and Bruce snorted.

 

“It appears to be a Bifrost signature,” JARVIS reported. “An Einstein-Rosen bridge. However, the readings are slightly different than the ones that we recorded Thor using.”

  
  
“Let me see that,” Stark ordered, and pulled the hologram to himself. He studied it for a moment, zoomed in on one particular spike, and then whooped at the top of his lungs. “Yeah, baby! They came for us!”

  
  
“Who did?” Steve asked right as Rogers burst in the door.

  
  
“You guys want to meet our Thor?” Stark asked, an excited spark in his eyes. And Steve had to admit, he did.

 

(Thor hadn’t been in the drawing. Steve had almost been afraid that he was dead. Gone.)

 

Thor—or alternate Thor, Steve supposed, as their Thor had accompanied them—had landed on a street a few blocks from the Tower. They set out on foot, all eight of them. Not in uniform, and while they normally would have been recognized, these streets were still mostly closed off. The rain of aliens and terror had subdued New York City for nine days. It wouldn’t last much longer.

 

Rogers and Stark forged farther ahead than the rest of the Avengers. They were both obviously excited to see their Thor; probably because they were excited to go home but also because they didn’t know what had happened in their time.

 

Thor was standing in the alleyway that the Bifrost had landed on, arms crossed, leaning against a wall. When he caught sight of Stark and Rogers, he stood straight and announced, “You two have got to be some of the biggest idiots I’ve ever met. And I lived with—I’ve met a lot of idiots.”

  
  
It seemed like Shakespeare was gone, then. Stark laughed and said, “Good to see you, big guy.” Then Thor stepped forwards, out of the shadowed alleyway, and Steve’s heart clenched painfully.

 

Thor had been in the drawing the whole time.

 

This Thor had short-cropped hair and wore fighting leathers that covered only his left arm instead of the heavy metal armor. He didn’t have any weapon on him (the hammer was a conspicuous absence on his hip), but Steve did notice a fragment of shattered metal on a thin chain around his neck. The right side of his face was ravaged with scars, and an eyepatch covered his right eye.

 

Next to him, Steve’s Thor stopped short.

 

The other Thor studied his alternate, smiled sympathetically, and didn’t say anything. His Thor didn’t say anything, either, but Steve watched his grip tighten on Mjolnir.

 

“I assume you have a way to bring us back,” Stark was saying, “unless you like us so much that you wanted to strand yourself in 2012, too.”

  
  
Thor’s expression flickered for a moment, but he showed the metal fragment that Steve had noticed earlier. “Thanos destroyed Stormbreaker,” he reported, which answered exactly none of Steve’s questions, “but Bruce managed to figure out a way to use the Stones in a way that mimicked how Thanos used it. All he needed was a transdimensional push, and even though the Bifrost is—” Here he faltered, and cast a glance at his alternate.

 

“It still has one more push left in it,” He finished. “But we need to go within the next few minutes before Bruce pulls me back himself. And… I don’t know how much you’ve told them, but Bruce told me that this timeline has already branched into another reality. Our timeline is unchanged.”

  
  
Stark put both hands over his face, and Rogers rolled his eyes so hard that Steve was almost afraid he’d lose them somewhere back there. “This _whole time?”_ Stark demanded, and Thor winced sympathetically.

 

“Sorry?” He tried, and Stark ignored him.

 

“Whatever, man.” His eyes were scared, horribly vulnerable, and Steve realized—

 

“Did we, uh. Did we win?”

 

Thor’s face shifted to a soft smile. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, and for the first time Steve noticed the armor extended all the way down to form a glove over his left hand and that there were bandages peeking out of the neckline of his armor. None of that showed on his face. “There’s a teenager dressed as a spider who’s very insistent that I get this over with as soon as possible.

 

Stark’s face broke and he pressed his hands over his face for a moment before composing himself and throwing his arms around the god. Thor grunted, but wrapped his right arm around Stark’s shoulders and smiled.

 

Rogers went over to hug Natasha, and Steve suddenly realized that their alternates were _leaving,_ really leaving, and it hit him harder than he’d expected. He watched as the two Thors converged on each other, the younger one asking a muted question and older Thor’s face falling. He said something that Steve didn’t catch, something that looked like a warning or a piece of advice from the way that his counterpart’s shoulders slumped.

 

He spent most of the goodbyes in a half-dazed state, and when Stark came up to him and stuck a hand out, sniffing in that way that Steve could already tell was a way to suppress his emotions, Steve wrapped him in a hug before he knew what had happened.

 

Stark made an _oof_ ing sound, but didn’t try to escape. Instead, he brought his lips very close to Steve’s ear and whispered, “Don’t react.”

 

Steve didn’t.

 

“SHIELD’s compromised. By HYDRA. Most of it’s corrupt—Rumlow, Pierce, Stern. You can trust Clint, Nat, Fury, and Maria—Hill, that is—and I’m pretty sure that’s it. You gotta—you can’t do anything drastic, alright, Rogers? You gotta trust me.”

  
  
Bar the fact that the terror organization that Steve had basically given his life to destroy was _still around,_ Steve found that he did.

 

“Okay,” he said, a deceptive calm falling over his shoulders. Tony shot him an inquisitive look, and Natasha frowned in their direction. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Stark repeated, a bit of wryness twisting his words. “Take care of yourself.”

 

Rogers actually laughed at that. “In your dreams.”

  
  
This time, it was Rogers who hauled Steve into a hug. And again, there was a secret message breathed into Steve’s ear.

 

“Listen to me very carefully. I’m going to tell you something about someone that’s going to be a blessing and a curse, and you’re not going to freak.”

 

\---

 

Tony wasn’t sure what Rogers had said to Steve that had made him turn such an unhealthy shade of white, but there obviously wasn’t any time for him to be asking questions. Other-Thor frowned (and damn if he hadn’t aged a bit, even though he looked the most different out of all of them) and tapped something on his wrist. “One minute,” He warned, and Rogers stepped away.

 

“Be careful,” he warned once more, and that caused Tony to wonder what cryptic message their alternates had gifted Steve. All Stark had said to him was a vague piece of advice to keep an eye on UN legislation and the name of a good therapist (and come on, Tony didn’t need _therapy)_. All Rogers had told him was to punch Steve if it turned out he was keeping something from Tony.

 

“No secrets,” Rogers said, still speaking to Steve. “I don’t want to hear anything about any mishaps.”

  
  
Tony frowned. “How would you hear about any—you know what, I’m not even gonna argue.”

 

Stark smirked at him, and Tony realized that he was going to come up with some sort of reference.

 

“Bye, Aaron McComb,” Tony blurted at the same time as Stark said, “Bye, Michael 8.”

 

“No fair,” Tony complained. “That movie’s not out for another month.”

  
  
Stark grinned, lacing hands with Rogers, and Tony realized what he was about to say. “No spoilers!” He shouted.

 

Thor grasped both of their arms and the Bifrost erupted, carrying Stark’s words away.

 

\---

 

“So, what’re you gonna do now, Cap?”

 

“Are we really back to Cap?”

  
  
“Fine, Steve, whatever. Still. We haven’t had much time to regroup, what with our future selves deciding to drop in and destroy our worlds out from under us. So…?”

 

Steve’s face finally cracked into a smile at that, and Tony took that as a win.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “I don’t really have… a place. An apartment. Belongings. You know, things that normal people usually have.”

  
  
“You’re always welcome to stay with me,” Tony blurted before he could stop himself. _Stupid, stupid._ “Top half of the Tower’s pretty damaged, but the ground floors are still outfitted with apartments and the works. I mean, if you want.”

  
  
Steve didn’t say anything for a long while. Tony’s stomach twisted into a knot and he shrugged, kicking at a stray rock lying on the sidewalk. “Or not, I mean, I don’t want to be pushy—”

 

“Tony,” Steve interrupted smoothly. “I’d be honored.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting a multichap for the first time since November soon hopefully! thanks everyone for reading! drop a comment or a kudos or whatever they make ya gurl happy !
> 
> (also this distracted me from the pain-filled movie named endgame. goodnight)
> 
> update (20 july 2019): there will be a sequel!!!!!! stay tuned!!!!!


End file.
